


Crumpet Removal

by ReachForTheStars



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Crack, Drunken Shenanigans, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Crack, French, Irish, come out ye black and tans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 08:31:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18587566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReachForTheStars/pseuds/ReachForTheStars
Summary: What do a French science robot and an Irish cage fighter have in common?





	Crumpet Removal

"Ah, Monsieur Vadim, do you possess any wine? A merlot or a chardonnay, perhaps?"

"I not know what is kardon-ee. Have Bobrov's Best, is nectar of gods. You drink once, you never wanting anything else."

"Zat, I zuspect, is true, one way or ze other."

"Ugh. Why did I bring ye along? Vadim, give us four shots."

Vadim poured out the shots while Cait leaned against the bar, not looking at Curie. She'd brought the robot, or synth, or whatever she was now, to show her "what it eez to be human". Or Cait's version of that, anyway, which was good enough for her. Drinking felt good. And let her forget.

"So, Mademoiselle Cait," Curie began, in that cloyingly sweet little voice of hers, cautiously sniffing at the shot glasses in front of her and ignoring that Cait obviously just wanted to get pissed, "you said you were a, a prize fighter? At ze Com-bate Zone?"

"Aye. I was. Don't want to talk about it." Cait downed a shot, gasping at the furious stinging burn in her throat.

"Ah. Of course." Curie sat in silence, peering curiously around the bar as Cait downed another shot. Her head was already starting to reel. She saw Curie hadn't drunk anything yet, and grabbed one of the shots in front of her.

"Come on, drink up, ye got to get langered to be human. Not sure why ye wanted to be."

Curie lifted the remaining shot, peering at it. "Is safe, yes?"

"Ain't killed me yet."

Curie sipped at it cautiously, then coughed violently, dropping the shot glass on the bar. Bobrov's Best splashed across the surface.

"Oi, ye got to be three drinks in before ye can be that clumsy!"

"I am...sorry, Mademoiselle, I...am not accustomed to...ze _intensity_ of these...sensations. Nor the imprecision of my new limbs."

"That's one way of puttin' it."

"You must be...strong survivor, to drink _zat_ often. But I knew zat already - you fought to, to death in Combat Zone, no?"

"Not all the bloody time. Once I'd got me a reputation, not many willin' to take that chance. An' ye don't get tae be a famous fighter by lettin' one bad day be the end of ye. And I thought I fookin' told ye I didn't want ter talk about that!"

"My sincerest apologies."

Another silence. Cait rapped on the bar to Vadim, who brought two more shots. She couldn't remember whether she had enough caps to pay for this. Maybe she could beg some from the synth-thing.

"You are Irish, yes?"

"Yeh," Cait answered, surprised. "At least, me parents were, but don't feel like talkin' about that neither. Still, it was an Irish settlement, up north. They came across from Ulster on a sailin' ship two genra - generaz - forty years ago, hearin' things be better here. Weren't, an' the bloody ship wrecked. We lived a wee bit outside the town. Kept folk from askin' questions about how they treated me. And I don't want your bloody sympathy, just drink up."

Curie nodded and tried another shot, and managed to get about half of it down with much coughing and gasping. Cait went on, swirling the shot before her. "Still, some of them folk were decent. Proper Irishmen what came across, no fookin' seoinin."

"Ah! Seoinin. Is ze word for people who pretend to be _Anglais_ , no?"

"Aye, and fookin' shiteheads in general. But that's the same thing, right?"

" _Au naturel_! Such _barbarians_ , ze Anglais. Cruel savages, all!"

Cait turned and gazed at her then, a grin showing. "Oh, I think we'll be gettin' along just fine."

  
With Cait and Curie gone, things were much quieter in the Publick Occurrences office. Nate sat across from Piper, contemplating the position of her queen relative to that of his pawns and waiting for her to move.

"You know, I never thought you'd be a chess player, soldier and all. That is - not to say soldiers are unintelligent - or that you are - _nor_ that you are, should say - but..."

"That's fine, Pipes. Like I said, I wasn't a typical soldier. We power armor mechanics needed something between our ears. Generally a sort of manic ingenuity, to keep those clanking contraptions working with nothing but worn-out tools and broken parts."

"Yes, I've seen some of your...contrivances. You really are brilliant."

"Thank you," Nate answered. Their eyes met for a long moment. Each wanted to lean in and kiss the other, but thought the other didn't feel the same. The moment came and went, and Piper quickly made her next move.

"So what do you think of Curie?" she asked.

"Now, or before? I guess it's about the same either way; she's sweet, quiet, maybe a little too kind for her own good. Then again -" He stopped, ear cocked. "What is that _horrible_ noise?"

"It sounds like a wounded brahmin."

Nate went to the window and opened it. What could in a very loose sense of the word be described as singing came in.

"Oh, come _out_ ye BLACK AND TANS! Come and _fight_ me like a _MAAAAN_! Show your wife how you won medals down in _Flaaanders_! Tell her how the _IRAAAA_ made you run, like hell, _away_!"

Nate stuck his head out the window. Cait and Curie were staggering and weaving down the street, arms wrapped around each other, heads thrown back as they belted out the words.

"From the _green_ and _lovely_ lanes of KILLASHANNDRAAAAA!"

"What - what in the -" Piper sputtered, joining him at the window.

"We'd better go get them off the street before the guards do," Nate said, hurrying toward the stairs. "They're a little trigger-happy."

"Uhh...I'm not wrestling with Cait."

"Fine, I will. If she rips my head off see if you can screw it back on."

"Haha, Blue."

They approached the front door, but before they could pass through, Codsworth jetted out from behind the press, speeding across the room. " _I say!_ " he declared as he passed through the door. " _Miss Cait, Curie, kindly control yourselves. You are behaving_ most _indecorously_."

Nate and Piper shared a glance, then ran after him toward the drunken women.

"Fook off, ye English cunt!"

"Bastard Norman!" Curie slurred, shaking a loose fist at the robot.

" _Miss Cait, you are clearly intoxic_ -"

"FREE DERRY!" Cait roared, launching into a wild, stumbling charge without so much as squaring herself. Even so, she was _fast_ , and her fist smashed a nasty dent into Codsworth's core before he could manuever away.

"Codsworth, DISENGAGE COMBAT!" Nate bellowed as he saw the robot's saw beginning to whir. Cait launched another bell-ringer of a blow at him, but missed, staggered, and crashed to the street on her face.

"Murderers! Imperalzists! Your Black Prince butchered our children! We rezember Limoges, Auvergne, Berry!"

"Codsworth, go back to the garage and stay there!" Nate yelled over Curie's tirade at the robot. Codsworth silently jetted away, muttering something under his nonexistent breath.

"Lied about Bonaparte! _Liberte, egalite, fraternite_ , _non_? You - zey - _maquereau_ royalists! Envy, greed...Bonaparte's genius..."

"Come on, Curie," said Piper softly, slipping an arm around her. "Let's get you to bed."

"We would...freed Eire, Poland...ze Germanies..." Curie rambled, as Piper guided her toward the door, having trouble holding the point. "Bonaparte...Bonaparte...brought low by Wellington's legions..."

"Fookin' traitor!" Cait yelled, on hearing that name. "Tha' jaffa prod! I'd go back 'ross just, to, to..."

"Urinate on zis grave!" Curie suggested shrilly.

"Bang...on!" Cait answered, managing to get onto her knees. Blood trickled down her face. She extended a scarred hand, rippling with fierce strength, and Curie reached out to her; Cait's thick fingers closed on Curie's softer palm, a trickle of blood running across. Curie tried to pull her up, but fell herself, chests colliding and limbs tangling, leaving them kneeling face to face.

"I fookin' love ye," Cait murmured to Curie, gazing into her subtly inhuman eyes, as Nate tried to help her up. She was heavy. Cait shook him off, gripped Curie's cheek with a clumsy roughness, and kissed her lips. A little muffled squeak of surprise came from Curie, cut off as Cait's tongue slipped into her mouth and wrestled with hers. Nate stopped and raised his eyebrows at Piper as Curie awkwardly held Cait's sides so they could kiss better. "Should we..."

"You want to try to fight Cait...anyway, she might get the wrong idea."

"Wrong idea?"

"I'm not having a threes...that is, as much as...I'm straight as a...well, is the point."

"Well, I don't know, you never know until you try, right?"

Piper flushed but didn't answer. Nate wondered if he'd gone too far, but the moment was broken by Cait finally coming up for air.

"Me bloody well locked..." she gasped out, voice quavering, "but that were _deadly_ , no mistook. Oh shite -" Cait pushed away from Curie and turned just in time before vomiting across the pavement. It reeked so strongly of alcohol that Nate wondered if it might actually make the street more clean.

"C'mon, Cait, let's get you to bed, OK?" Nate coaxed, lifting her up. She didn't resist this time, but didn't help either, and Nate found himself basically having to drag her. She mumbled something in his ear about Curie and carpet before properly passing out. Nate swore to himself, and kept going. Fortunately it wasn't far.

Nate laid Cait down on the floor and went back to help Piper with Curie, who was now muttering about a king called Henry massacring prisoners at some place that sounded like Again-Court. They were able to get her up the stairs and into Piper's bed without much trouble; she passed out almost as soon as they set her down. Then they hauled Cait into Nat's bed (Nat was staying with one of her friends for the night, as she often did when Cait and Curie were here), rolling her on her side so she wouldn't choke on any further vomit.

"What time is it?" Piper asked, catching her breath from the lifting.

Nate craned to look at the decrepit old clock ticking away on one wall. "Ghh...almost two. Want to finish the game?"

"I'm tired, Blue. In the morning. Well, it is the morning. _After we've slept_. Where are we doing that?"

"You can have the couch, I'll get some blankets and stretch out on the floor."

"No, Blue, you're my guest. You take the couch."

"Is that all I am?" Nate asked, blurting out the words before his fear could claw them back down. "Your guest?"

"I...Blue, I don't know what you mean...I..." _Say it!_ she screamed at herself. But she didn't.

"Right, then." He threw himself onto the couch. Piper stomped away. _Coward_ rang in her brain.

  


Curie tried to get up. Her mouth was as dry as the Sahara and her head _hurt_. Pain was really bad. She didn't like human pain. She rolled off the bed and crashed to the floor, crying out plaintively.

Cait came upstairs slowly, shielding her eyes from the glaring lights. She saw Curie, and hurried across to her. Powerful, warm, _magnifique_ arms lifted Curie back onto the bed. Curie felt a tingle between her legs as Cait's biceps pressed into her back.

"All right?" Cait asked, voice low.

Curie managed a nod after a moment. "Why is it...humans do zis?" she managed to ask.

"To forget. To not worry. And so they can do this." Cait pulled Curie's chin up firmly, leaned in, and kissed her.

"Zat feels very good," Curie said, after they broke apart. "I wish to do zat more. And, also...fuck the English," she smiled sheepishly. "Well, not...not in ze _sexual_ sense, I mean..."

"Fook the English!" Cait broke in, cutting off Curie's babbling with tongue and lips, sending a delicious warmth through her body that swept aside the hangover seemingly into nothing.


End file.
